


Related Words

by Minutia_R



Category: The Chronicles of Chrestomanci - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: 3 Sentence Fiction, Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minutia_R/pseuds/Minutia_R
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various Chrestomanci snippets, commentfics, and so on originally posted here and there on the internet, and now collected here for your convenience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reluctant Cricketer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was taking prompts on my journal/tumblr in the form of two characters and a topic of conversation. stallery requested: "Conrad Tesdinic and Christopher Chant on cricket?"

“Yes, we have cricket in Series Seven,” I said. “I was just never interested in it.” Maybe because my uncle never told me I’d break my neck doing it; if I’d known someone who’d died playing cricket back then it might have seemed more attractive. I wasn’t going to tell Christopher that, though, I didn’t need him extolling the dangers of cricket at me.

“Well,” said Christopher. “It can’t be proper cricket then.”

“Of course it’s proper cricket! It’s twice as proper as whatever poncy game you play over here.”

“Oh really. Have you got the leg before wicket rule?”

I should have let it go. I really should have known by then to be suspicious when Christopher wore that carefully neutral expression. But I was fed up after months of hearing this is how we do it in Series Twelve, Conrad. So when I found myself out on the castle lawn in borrowed pads half an hour later, having proper batting technique demonstrated to me, it was entirely my fault.

Just my stupid fate.


	2. Problem Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was taking prompts on my journal/tumblr in the form of two characters and a topic of conversation. heavymetai requested: "Christopher and Millie talking about Cat!"

“Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on him, my love?”

“I don’t see what you mean,” said Chrestomanci absently. “I’m always perfectly polite.”

Millie jabbed him in the ribs. “If you want to spend the next week sleeping in one of the guest bedrooms, you could just say so.”

Chrestomanci sighed. “No, I don’t think I’m being a little hard on him. I won’t know what to do until I know what he’s up to. He consorts with criminals, keeps his power hidden so carefully—and in the meantime lets his sister spend it like she’s got no sense. Is he setting her up to take a fall for him, do you think?”

“No,” said Millie, “I don’t.”

“But you don’t know,” said Chrestomanci, and Millie acknowledged that with an unhappy shrug. “I remember what I got up to at that age. And even after I was caught sneaking out to visit you, no-one believed I was capable of doing serious harm. Because I was a child. Well, I won’t make that mistake.”

“I understand,” said Millie. “You’re not Gabriel. But remember, Christopher—Cat’s not you.”


	3. The Reasonable One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was taking prompts on my journal/tumblr in the form of two characters and a topic of conversation. Elsane requested: " Mordecai and Elizabeth, on compromise".

“So now,” concluded Elizabeth, throwing her hands up in despair, “not only are Antonio and Old Niccolo still quarreling, but Gina and Maria won’t talk to each other either, and everybody is avoiding Uncle Umberto. Am I marrying into a family of people who never back down?”

“There are advantages to that,” said Mordecai. “At least you know Antonio will never turn loose of you.”

“That’s true.” Elizabeth smiled a brief, private smile. “But the worst part is that everyone thinks I’m the reasonable one. Which is completely accurate! But they all think it means that I’m on their side.”

“Well.” Mordecai didn’t meet Elizabeth’s eye; his look was inward, thoughtful. “There are advantages to that, too. You don’t need to quarrel with anyone. Everyone likes you. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“It’s awful,” said Elizabeth. “They say the most horrible things and expect me to agree with them. And I feel like I’m lying, even when I’m not.”

“I think you have good instincts,” said Mordecai. “You’ll figure it out.”

“Oh! You’re worse than Gabriel! Aren’t you going to tell me what I should do?”

“Not me,” said Mordecai.


	4. Détente

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the 3 sentence ficathon, for betony's prompt: "Chronicles of Chrestomanci, Miranda Chant and Millie Chant, Détente".

"I think," said Millie in reply to Christopher's unspoken _that went surprisingly well_ , "she was just relieved that she was still the most beautiful woman there."

"You were the most beautiful woman there," Christopher objected.

"I know that," said Millie, slipping her arm through his, "and you know that."


	5. The Past is a Foreign Country

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the 3 sentence ficathon, for betony's prompt: "Julia & Roger (&Millie), Series Ten"

It's much too hot, and they have to wear broad-brimmed, floppy hats to protect their faces; they've inherited their father's easily-sunburned skin. Monkeys scamper across striped canvas awnings, a woman sits on a woven mat enwreathed in brightly-colored snakes, a vendor calls out that he sells _the juiciest figs in the market, by Asheth!_ and Roger's eyes meet Julia's and they share the same delighted thought: that's Mummy!

But Millie feels the press of the crowds, and panic tightens her chest even as she reminds herself that they don't want her forgiveness, or her blessing, or anything from her at all except the money they'd want from any oddly-dressed tourist--and she holds tightly to her children's hands with the two hands she has left.


	6. Empty Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the DWJ ficathon, for katharhino's prompt: "The Duke, an empty palace full of Punch and Judys he doesn't fancy any more".

When Lucrezia and I were first married, and took walks in the evening through the streets of Caprona, she would keep a pocket full of sweets to hand out to children as we passed. We used to gather quite a crowd of followers, from boys and girls in shiny hats and ribbons to the grubbiest barefoot urchins; the palace guards found it a nuisance, but I liked it. And Lucrezia was always fond of children.

Why else, said the wits of the city over hands of bridge and snifters of brandy, had she married me?

As the years passed and we had none of our own, it was our shared, private sorrow. It drew us closer together. And the closer it drew us, the more I began to think it had been a near miss after all.

That should have given me a clue, shouldn’t it?

Nowadays, I take no evening strolls. I’m much too busy. My secretaries say, “About the farms destroyed in the fighting, Your Grace . . .” or, “There’s a delegation from the Duke of Pisa,” and I deal with these things. There’s no one to do it for me anymore.

But when they say, “Your Grace, perhaps you should think of marrying again,” I give them my most foolish grin and a cigar, and they shake their heads and go away.

I used to like Punch and Judys because at least I knew they weren’t laughing at me behind my back. I’m not so sure of that now. Their painted eyes follow me from the shelves where they sit; their painted lips twist mockingly. How do I know they’re not alive?

I could give the order to have them taken away, but I haven’t. I could never get rid of Lucrezia, either.

And sometimes I hear, distantly, as if from a few rooms away, a strident, stupid voice: _What a clever fellow!_

Or else, higher and sugar-sweet: _What have you done with the baby, Mr. Punch?_


	7. The Dashing Thief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the DWJ ficathon, for betony's prompt: " Millie/Christopher, run away with me".

You can see why I would be disappointed by the thief in my temple. He was small and grubby and he didn’t know the first thing about cats--nothing at all like the dashing master thief from that paperback I’d filched off of one of the more careless novices. He wasn’t even properly a thief, because I gave him Throgmorten, and he was mine to give, even if the priestesses probably would have had a different opinion.

Well, technically, I swapped with the thief for Throgmorten. He said he’d bring me books in exchange, but to tell you the truth I wasn’t holding my breath. Who’d trust the word of a heathen?

I gave him Throgmorten, because--he was just a boy in an odd-looking suit of clothes that didn’t even fit, and he’d walked into my temple cool as you please.

If he could walk in, I could walk out.


End file.
